


Sparks and Storms

by orphan_account



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Elemental Magic, Gen, Have some epic friendship!, In the meantime..., Platonic Relationships, Poldark Timeline, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Wooh!, You just have to wait for it., yeah!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Poldark family has long been a line of powerful Earth-speakers. It's how they came by their  land and their mines. Ross is born Fire-held, and spends his entire life keeping it hidden.</p><p>When he comes back from the war, only to find that the last of the Poldark Earth-Speakers are gone, and it falls to him to keep the land in order.</p><p>Meanwhile, one day at the market, he meets a young girl who also has the Spark.</p><p>(Eventual DarkHawk.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Far from the Hearth

**Author's Note:**

> LA LA LA, LA LA, WHAT IS CANON? I CAN'T HEAR YOU.
> 
> A huge thank-you to [My_Trex_has_fleas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Trex_has_fleas/pseuds/My_Trex_has_fleas)  
> , as always. For being a beta, a cheerleader, a sounding board, and the best friend a person could ask for. <3
> 
>  
> 
> Constructive criticism always appreciated!

They had manage to pass it off as only a fight because of a name - the Poldark name, steeped as it was in the power and politics of Cornwall. It could only have ever been a fight, because everyone knew how the Poldarks had come into their own. Poldark roots ran deep, sinking into the land and grounded there. The money and the land, it all came from the earth, and in return the Poldarks were bound to the land. They were the wardens, the caretakers. When the earth spoke to them, not only could they listen, they could _act_.

Ross’s father, Joshua, had felt it. He’d been a strong man, with bones of iron and the ability to shift stone as easily as if it was the finest silt drawn from the bottom of a river bed. Even then, Joshua’s power had been eclipsed by the power of Ross’s Great-Grandfather, Lindsey. It was Lindsey who had spoken with the land, and founded the mines. From then, it had fallen to Poldarks to upkeep and maintain; and they had done.

  


Ross sat in the carriage on his way home, eyes closed to avoid any possible opportunity for small talk that may come from the other travelers. He fought down the familiar pain that lived in the tips of his fingers, that flared to life whenever he thought of it.

He was lucky, and he knew it. He did not have the Poldark steadiness; though they could shake the earth if they needed to, they were firm in their steps and set in their ways. Poldarks were mountains, were cliffs; standing proud against anything that may try to test its will upon them. Ross did not speak the language of stone.

Ross held fire. Sparks prone to catch blaze at the shift of the wind, and he knew far better than to let anyone find out.

The Flame-held were not well-regarded in Cornwall. A Child known to be flame-held was just as likely to end up lost at sea or left in the woods as they were to be beaten in the town square. Ross had never truly been of a mind to travel to London, though he knew that the Flame-Held there were treated as any other found to be with magic. But Ross knew that Cornwall ran through him, thicker than blood. His place was Nampara, built by his father spoken into place through sheer force of will, despite age and failing health.

The walls of his home had been sturdy, to shelter those within, but it had also been built to house the light and elegance of his mother. Grace Poldark didn’t have magic big enough to notice, but Ross had always believed that she was wind-touched. Perhaps it was just the eyes of a child, and fond remembrances, but when she had died it was as if the breath had been sucked from the lungs of Nampara. Where before there had been light and hope, there was suddenly Ross and Joshua and the shadows of grief.

She had been what held them together, as small as early morning laughter before the world wakes, but as fundamental and steady as breath. She had died, and Joshua had never recovered. Ross had always known that he was loved by his father, but without Grace to pull them together, they drifted.

It had only been a matter of time before something happened. Ross had always felt stifled by the deep, looming halls and social niceties of so-called polite society. Instead he found himself befriending the workers of the family mine. Some of them had the traces of Earth-speaker lineage. Not enough to do more than block out fears of caverns, and, if lucky, that extra instinct for rock-falls. Most had no magic at all. It was easier to hide, when there were no expectations. There was no fear of discovery among those who would never look.

Magic powerful enough to truly manifest usually resulted in the child being sent away for training, though there were still places, especially farther away from the cities, where hedge-mages still trained those that they found instead of more formal schooling. It meant that functions of ‘society’ were often filled with those who had been plucked from less than auspicious upbringings and were desperate to prove themselves. Challenges were thrown out like confetti; filling every corner and seemingly impossible to avoid.

Ross had thought himself clever, choosing instead to seek company elsewhere. No matter what decision he could have made, though, the combination of too many people, young tempers and alcohol always led to the same conclusion. He couldn’t even remember how it had started, now. There were some things, though, that he knew he would never forget. The way the heat felt, as it surged through his veins; the way it ached and burned, shredding through the self-aggrandizing confidence he’d built up, the belief he’d held that he could control the flame that he knew lived beneath his skin. It had _hurt_ , felt like the ocean being forced through a sieve. An infinity of pressure and nowhere to go with it. When the fire had started, and Ross hadn’t even noticed.

Ross had never felt the callings of religion, but he thanked any being listening that no one had died that night. Homes were lost, and a meadow caught fire before the water-witches had been able to get the blaze under control. Even still, he was lucky. If a field had caught fire; if any of the buildings had belonged to land-owners, not even the sway of the Poldark line could have kept him safe.

As it stood, Ross wasn’t even sure if anyone connected him to the incident. Nothing ‘of note’ had been damaged. It had been called an ‘out-of-hand brawl’, that had accidentally started a fire. Joshua had payed for reparations, as Ross had been involved, but there was no mention of a Spark being involved. Afterword, when Joshua had quietly sent Ross off to the military, it had been of little surprise to anyone, but still he hadn’t even heard whispers of a rumour to his true nature.

 

It had been nearly five years since Ross had last left Nampara, and the thought of it was a thread of relief that somehow managed to cut through the fog of weariness that had otherwise settled within him.

 

He’d kept the spark secret, even in his time in the military. It had hurt, far more than anything that Ross had ever experienced before. Gifts of magic were not meant to be denied. Nonetheless, every day, Ross would push back the feeling of fire, of acid eating away at his skin from the inside out and walk through the motions of his life.

The war had been the worst. Long days of nothing, stretches far too long to maintain true vigilance, randomly interspersed with bouts of hellish fighting. He had no idea how he managed to keep his fingertips cool enough that they didn’t set off his black-powder charges when he touched them, managed to keep his hands cool enough that he didn’t bend the barrel of his musket. Even then, it had all ended in fire anyway.

The ache of his leg had faded, simply coalescing into the background hum, the level of painful, itching heat that never left. His vision was unimpaired, rather miraculously, given the severity of the wound that had caused the dark scar snaking down the side of his face. He was whole enough to have no right to complain.

It was then that the conversation within the carriage struck close enough to home to draw him from his thoughts.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to this town if the mines keep going the way they have.” A woman was speaking to her companion.

“I don’t see why they don’t just hire some Earth-speaker to come down from London and tame it for them.”

“Well, that would hardly do, though, would it? Especially not for the likes of Charles Poldark. To be the grandson of Lindsey and not have even a touch of sway? It’s shameful, is what that is.”

Finally, Ross could hold his tongue no more. “Why could Joshua not look at the mines?”

The woman and her companion stared at him in shocked silence for a moment, before the woman answered.

“He’s been dead for nearly four years.”

  


Ross felt the heat flare up within him, as it always did when he lost control of his emotions. He forced it back down, and took a long breath to ride out the accompanying pain.

“Joshua Poldark is dead?”

The woman nodded. “Ill humours got to him over winter. The place has been empty ever since. No one knows why his good-for-naught son never came back to claim the place.”

Ross had to concentrate on breathing to keep the fire down. “His ‘good-for-naught son was in America, fighting a pointless war.’ He glanced out the window of the carriage. They were only a few minutes walk from town.

It was close enough. Suddenly he needed to be outside. He rapped on the carriage to get the driver’s attention, gathered his things and promptly left the small space of the carriage. He watched as it pulled back onto the road and continued into to town.  He just had to keep breathing. The pain was sharp, now, pouring through him and burning like alcohol on an infected wound. His skin felt flaming. He was almost surprised that his fingers hadn’t blackened to charcoal as the heat and pain roared through him. Breathing wasn’t enough. He needed to move. He gathered his things and began the walk to town.

 

 


	2. Sparkmeet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross goes to the market and meets Demelza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed, so if you catch anything, let me know!

Nampara was in Shambles. It was whole - a house that had been pulled from the earth, and coaxed into being by an Earthspeaker - those never leaked. There no cracks or for water or cold to seep in. Every piece fit together perfectly, and, in the way of stone, was perfectly content to stay how it was.

But there was only so much that could be protected by an impenetrable exoskeleton. It was clear that the place had been ransacked. The precious glass windows had been shattered, the door was hacked from it’s hinges. Everything that could have conceivably been carried off was gone. The bed was gone, the closets were emptied. The only thing that Ross had found  that was still in usable condition was the old wooden table in the kitchen, and even that was only because it legs of it had been sunk into the very stone of the floor. The table itself was a single, solid piece of slate, pulled out of the ground like the rest of the house.

 

There was virtually nothing at all left in the ruins. There was one place, a closet that Joshua had built to hold Grace’s things; and he’d sealed if off behind a door of stone that was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the wall. Ross had pushed it open and felt, the desperate relief bloom in his chest when he realized that he hadn’t quite lost everything.

The things in the closet - they weren’t particularly useful, or probably worth that much, but Joshua had always been sentimental over his wife; and Ross was unspeakably grateful for it now.

It was almost enough to cool the burning in his blood.

(The thing Ross loved most about Nampara was the impenetrable sense of safety he always felt. Safe, safe, within the thick walls of stone, secure that nothing could happen. The pain could rise; pressing out from his skin, taking over his mind until nothing was left but the burning heat; infinite, unending, pushing and refusing to be held, and he was safe here.

If the sight of his father’s desk, shattered and destroyed, brought the temperature to his fingertips...nothing was going to happen.

He could press his hands again the cool, unmovable stone, and breathe. Breathe until it had passed; until the stone had taken all of the heat that he couldn’t control; until the pain dissipated, from the roaring, all-consuming burn; the shredding, sparking feeling too big to think through slowly wore itself out; back to the pricking in his fingertips. He could lean against the wall and breathe, until there was nothing left to show for it but two charred handprints that he would wipe off later.

 

There was still livestock - Ross wasn’t sure how he’d been so lucky as to come back to find cows still in the pasture, but he wasn’t about to question any kind of luck that may have come his way.

 

Ross had slept on the stone floors of the house his first night back, unwilling to risk the danger of sleeping in the moulding straw still left in the barn, too afraid of what would happen if he couldn’t keep a handle on his anger, his grief. The pain that poured into his hands and settled into his joints, and made him feel as if there was nothing at all left for him but this: that his life was created to simply be finding the things that had been burnt down and it was his responsibility to rebuild it, no matter what the cost.

 

The next day he had gone back to town; riding the horse that he’d gotten the day before; that he’d bartered on the standing of his name, having nothing else left behind him. Today he’d brought in a bag, filled with things that had meant something to Joshua, but nothing to Ross. Ornate, silver candlesticks; delicately woven lace; elegant jewelry studded with the purest stones that could be sang from the ground.

Ross pushed back the sting of tears, and the burning heat in his limbs, and sold it all. He needed wood, food, grain. He needed to rebuild his home. He needed to re-open the mines. He needed to pretend that everything he’d ever known had once again been stripped away.

He needed to pretend that he didn’t feel the fire that pulsed through his veins.

If anyone ever found out; he knew he would lose what little he had left.

  
  
  
  


The market was loud and packed, as it always seemed to be on the warmest day of summer. Ross was wandering through, hoping that he could find any late-harvest seedlings. It wasn’t too late to be planting squashes or potatoes; there were still some things he could get into the ground in time to have food for the winter. He didn’t dare to buy flour before he’d made sure to clear the pantry from all of the creatures that had surely taken refuge there in the time since Nampara had been cared for.

 

When he’d heard screams, Ross had reacted instinctively, dropping his purchases and running towards the sound. His mind was blank but for the knowledge that he had to get there, and he needed to so immediately.

The last thing he expected was to see someone - a child, bleeding on the ground over a mangy dog, pick themselves up and throw themselves back into the fray.

It was a wicked fight; as brawls between the young so often were. There was no skill, only ferocity. Teeth bared, and fueled by uncomplicated rage, fists were flying, and no one seemed to have any care at all for fairness. It was about winning a hit whenever possible, and it was brutal.

Ross waded in, pulling people apart. He pitched his voice low, and let it carry through the alleyway. He’d learned how to make his tone carry through the forests of America; it was nothing to have his words ringing off the buildings here.

‘That is quite enough from all of you!’ He said. and the fighting slowed to a stop. ‘Do you have any reason for your behaviour?’

The one who had been on the ground - a spitfire, from what Ross could see - was the first to speak up. ‘They ‘s gonna kill my dog.’

Ross turned to the rest of the group - and they had split. It was clearly visible now that it had been an entire group ganging up on the child and the dog.

Ross glared at the group before turning to the dog and it’s protector. ‘Do you have a reason for your actions?’

‘She’s a bleedin’ spark, she is!’ Ross whirled around. The voice had come from the group, but the fear was riding high in Ross’s mind. He had to be careful here. So careful. If anyone ever suspected…

‘Do you have any proof of your words?’ Ross demanded.

He was met with silence and the awkward shifting of guilty feet.

‘Then perhaps you should think before you choose to mete out your own justice for crimes untried.’ Ross said. His voice was colder than bloodied steel, and the it took mere moments for the group to disperse under his disapproving gaze.

 

It was then that he turned to the girl and her dog.

 

‘What are you doing here?’

‘They’s gonna kill my dog.’ She repeated, meeting his eyes defiantly.

‘Where do you live.’ He clarified, clearly frustrated.

‘Got nowhere.’ She said, and her jaw pushed forward, daring him to say anything about her circumstances.

He looked at her for a long while, before reaching a hand out, to help her up from the ground.

She stared at him warily for a long moment before she took his offer.

 

The heat that flared between them lasted for only a moment, but it changed everything.

It was like lightning, striking and surging, rearranging all of Ross’s nerve endings; the very veins in his body. He felt like he had been wiped clean; a fence newly whitewashed, so that all or the past scars of previous years were no longer visible. He felt like a wall that had been so thoroughly scrubbed it no longer looked like it belonged in a house where people lived. It was clear and clean and it hurt, but not in the way he was used to. This wasn’t burning; it wasn’t the heat steadily pushing at his skin until he couldn’t take it anymore. This was sharp and bright; being cut with a razor; at first it was simply a gasp of surprise; the knowledge that something had changed, and then, slowly, there was the pain; sharp and bright and clean.

 

And he could feel her, there in the back of his mind.

 

She stared at him, her light eyes wide with terror and hope. ‘You…?’

Ross grasped her hands and hauled her up. ‘Not here.’ he said, firmly. But he already knew it was too late.

There was nothing that either of them could say. There was no point to anything that either of them could say. They both knew the truth.

  
They were both sparks, and through the fire; they were bonded.


	3. Naming Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross realizes the inevitable, and Demelza thinks she has found a *very* strange person to get bonded to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is totally un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know!

 

It took Ross a moment, far longer than it should have, to find the lingering thread of heat in the back of his mind that came from the young woman in front of him. When he finally found it, he took a deep breath and forced it down, as he did to his own fire, every moment, every day. The last thing he expected was the sudden grip around his wrist tight enough it to leave bruises.

‘What did you do.’ Her voice was tense and frightened, her eyes were wide with fear.

‘We can’t talk about this here.’ He said softly.

‘Did you undo it? Are you going to leave me here?’

He stared at her, stunned. ‘Of course not!’

‘But you turned it off.’ she said, quietly.

That was when he realized. ‘No, I turned it down. Please, we can’t talk about this here.’

She eyed him warily, but loosed her grip around his arm. He had to shake his hand out to get the feeling back. He was quite impressed by her strength, if nothing else. ‘What is your name?’

‘Demelza.’

‘Well, Demelza. I need to go collect my things, and then we shall get food and decide what to do from there. Is that acceptable.’

She regarded him with a stern eye for a long moment before she nodded solidly. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘That’ll do.’

He turned and began to walk down the street, suddenly remembering with pointed acuity that he had dropped all of his purchases at the signs of a fight, and he was uncomfortably aware that he couldn’t afford to spend that money twice.

‘’Scuse me sir.’ Demelza said, still standing in the street. ‘What’s your name then.’

He stopped and walked back to her. ‘My name is Ross Poldark, and I would have you accompany me, if you would.’

‘I wouldn’t hardly be lettin’ you leave me behind, Mister Poldark.’ She said, and he could feel the fire in her words, flaring up in the back of his mind.

He had to get them out of here, they couldn’t talk in the open, it was far too dangerous for both of them. Collect his, things, get to the safety of Nampara. They could talk there. He winced. He couldn’t just take her to Nampara. Nampara wasn’t hospitable for anyone, let alone a young woman, no matter how rough her upbringing. He pushed it all away. They had to talk first.

He walked back towards the market, intent on getting back to his things, but keeping on eye on Demelza trailing behind him. She stayed behind him, and to the left, but he made sure to shorten his stride every time he noticed her falling behind. It didn’t take terribly long to reach the stands where he’d been when he’d heard the fight break out.

He came to a stop when he realized that everything he’d gathered was gone. Anger and frustration burned and he had to force it down. It hurt. Everything hurt. He felt as though his very skin had been filed down to nothing. He had nothing left. His life was smoke and fire, and it didn’t matter how much it hurt, it didn’t matter how many times he pulled everything in, how deep he could push the fire. It ripped at his control, flared along his veins, pressing against his skin.

This was fire. No matter how much it took, it was always seeking more. Endless and starving, and always there, in the shadow of every step. There was nothing he could do to escape it, and in return, it burned through every facet of his life and left him with nothing but ruins and ash.

‘Sir?’

Ross bit back the fire he could feel creeping up the back of his throat, the searing heat pressing against the thin barrier of his skin. He fought it down. Closing his eyes he focused on the feel of his feet in his boots, the feel of the breeze against his face.

‘Sir?’

He had to think, had to breathe. He forced everything back, pushed it into his bones. Another slow breath in, slower out.

‘Mister Poldark!’ Demelza’s voice slid higher, verging on frantic. She didn’t understand what was going on, how the heat in the back of her mind would flare, brighter than any blaze she’d ever seen, hotter than the grass fires in the heat of summer. It would flash like lightning, and then disappear into nothing. All that would be left was the shadows of what had been. There wasn’t even thunder left, nothing to prove that it had been real.

She wasn’t sure what she was allowed to do, but the lightning kept flashing in the back of her mind, and she knew she couldn't do nothing. He wasn’t responding to her, so finally she reached forward and placed a tentative hand on his elbow.

He jerked away from her touch and stared as if he’d been doused in ice water.

‘Mister Poldark, sir,’ Demelza said, hesitantly, ‘are you alright?’

He felt something tentative in the back of his mind. He pushed it down, forced everything away, fed it through the thick soles of his boots and into the waiting earth. With a final deep breath, he adjusted his hat and looked to Demelza.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ He said, but his voice was hollow.

Demelza frowned, but didn’t push the issue.

Ross kept everything shut down, and walked towards the stall where he’d left his things. If he was moving he didn’t have to think.

‘Scuse me sir.’ A woman moved to stand behind the stall, ‘You dropped your things? I thought I’d move ‘em out of the road for you.’

He stared at her for longer than he should have, wracking his mind for anything he could give to her, any sign of his thanks. He had nothing. Not even a coin. He’d spent all he had, and the rest he’d traded for on the credit of his name.

She bent down and retrieved his carefully wrapped parcels.

‘He took them from her gratefully. ‘What is your name?’

‘M’name’s Lenore Baker, sir.’

‘I see.’ Ross said. ‘I am Ross Poldark of Nampara. I’m afraid that I have nothing to give you today but my thanks, but you have me a very good turn by keeping my things safe. Should you ever need help, please know you may call upon me.’

Lenore stared, shocked. ‘O’ course sir.’

He shifted to make sure he had a secure grip on everything before nodding to her. ‘Good day.’

‘And you!’ she called after them.

 

They’d barely gotten halfway down the lane when Demelza finally spoke up. ‘That was a strange thing you did there.’

‘Strange?’

‘Most folk would have told her off for even touchin’ what wasn’t hers.’

Ross frowned. ‘She kept my things safe for me and returned them. Why would I not thank her?’

‘I dunno.’ Demelza said, ‘Just that most fancy folk wouldn’t.’

‘Well they are poorer for it.’ Ross said, spotting the tavern up ahead. He had hoped that it wouldn’t be busy, but he realized what a foolish hope that had been. Everyone within walking distance was in town today. He paused and turned back to Demelza.

‘I fear I may have earlier misspoke.’

‘You-’

‘We should get food, but I think that conversations of a more sensitive nature would be better suited to my home.’

She stared. ‘Your home?’

He winced. His home was barely livable. How could he possibly drag a young girl into the ruins of Nampara? ‘That we can discuss over food.’ he said, walking forward once more.

 

The food at the pub was good, rich and filling and well-spiced. He supposed they could afford it on Market days in the summer. They sat down near the fire with bowls of stew. Demelza curled around hers and started shoveling food in her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in days. Ross frowned.

‘Slow down. You’ll not want for more.’

She looked up with her mouth full. ‘What?’ she spoke without swallowing.

‘No one will take that away from you and if you need more you shall get it.’ Ross said, hating the realization that was settling in his gut. He could  hardly afford it, but he couldn’t leave her. He did need help if he was going to get Nampara back to anything close to a hospitable state.

She watched him warily, but did pause in her eating to take a drink.

‘Can you milk a cow?’ Ross said.

‘Sorry sir?’

Ross sighed. He would have to teach her: ‘swallow then speak.’ ‘Can you milk a cow.’

‘I have done before.’ She said.

He nodded. ‘I need help restoring my home to order. If you would be amenable to the position, I would employ you.’

She stared at him, spoon halfway to her mouth, too stunned to move. ‘You’d be payin’ me?’

‘Of course. You would get a wage for you work, as well as food and a place to sleep.’

‘And my dog?’

Ross sighed. ‘He is your responsibility.’

‘He won’t do nothin’ wrong, I promise!’

‘I rather doubt he would let you leave him behind.’

Demelza looked sheepish. ‘We’re all each other’s got, sir.’

‘So be it.’ Ross said. ‘The dog may come as well.’

‘Oh, thank ‘ee sir. You’ll not regret it, I swear.’

‘Have you any talent with a garden?’

‘Oh yes. I used to do planting for my family.’

‘I know it’s late in the season,’ Ross said slowly, ‘but do you think you could get anything ready to harvest before the frosts?’

Demelza looked thoughtful as she shoved another bite of stew into her mouth. She looked out the window, contemplating the weather. ‘The frosts keep gettin’ later, and they don’t last half as long as they used to. I reckon if you’re only starting now you can get enough to make through winter.’

Ross frowned. He hadn’t heard anything about abnormal weather, though he hadn’t been talking to many people. ‘I will need you help with that as well then.’

Demelza nodded, but continued eating instead of replying.

Ross sighed. He had another mouth to feed. He could only hope that things came together quickly enough that he managed to not leave them both starving over the oncoming winter.

 

 


	4. Show Not a Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demelza and Ross make it back to Nampara, where it's time for a talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know! Con/crit always welcome. <3

  
  


The ride back to Nampara was far from comfortable. Demelza had never been on a horse before and rode like a sack of potatoes. Ross spent the entire time stiffer than bone, tense at the at the ticking possibilities that continued to build into a storm cloud he knew he couldn’t escape, but he didn’t know how to weather. 

They had bags of seeds, as well as salt and sugar, but Ross knew only the barest amount about how to use any of it. He had to get the mine running again. He had to get enough food in the ground to last through the winter. Now he had a young woman to take care of as well. Nampara was nowhere near habitable, but he didn’t have a choice.

Even if they hadn’t bonded, he never could have left a young spark alone. She would have been killed before the week was out.

Ross had listened closer to the talk when they had gone back to the market after their meal. Demelza had recommended seeds that she thought most likely to be able to produce before the frosts started. Ross was disquieted when her theories we

re confirmed. The time for planting had long past. The summers shouldn’t be long enough to get a full harvest in, yet everyone seemed to believe he had a good chance of it.

The long dry season meant that anyone with even a hint of the spark had to that much more careful. The smallest ember could light an entire field. Somehow Demelza needed to be trained, and the only thing that Ross knew about it was that he couldn’t be the one to teach her.

What Ross didn’t realize was that his turmoil was being felt keenly by Demelza, which in turn made her feel nervous and agitated, creating a feedback loop that kept spinning them to deeper into restlessness and worry. The trip to Nampara had never before felt so interminably long. 

 

Ross convinced himself that it would get better once they had reached the house. Ross could sort his life into direct steps, actions that needed to be taken.  Movement alway helped the roar of the fire that lingered at the back of his mind. He could close his eyes and give his muscles over to familiar motion. The simple, repetitive nature bringing the raging inferno down to manageable embers.

Small steps: get the horse settled, stow their supplies. Show Demelza Nampara.

He hadn’t counted on Demelza’s impatient nature, or that he didn’t actually know how to factor her into his plans. Once they reached the yard, and Ross got her down off the horse, he didn’t have any idea what to do. He unpacked their things, but Demelza had no idea what to do with any of it. He needed to get the horse into the stable, but he could feel her eyes on him with every movement. There was the zing of impatience pulling at the back of his mind, sparking up and flaring every time he turned to start another part of the process. Impatience and anxiety were building, scalding through his veins. His muscles were stiff with it, every felt like pushing through mud. He couldn’t make his mind turn off. Usually it was easy enough - no, not easy, never easy - but he’d practiced. His entire life had been shutting down the flame.

Now it burned, and it wasn’t  _ his _ .

Itching and flaming, and it was  _ hungry _ like nothing that he’d ever felt before. It didn’t move, he couldn’t push it away, couldn’t pull it down to embers. It was the Spark of Demelza, and he couldn’t make it go away.

He managed to get the tack off the horse before giving up. He threw the saddle onto the rack and knew he couldn’t manage anything else. He could feel the heat pricking at his skin again. He turned to Demelza, who sat in a nearby haystack. He blew out a long breath and walked out of the stable. He knew she would follow.

He walked out into the over-grown meadows that had once been fields. There was so much work to be done. Now he had help, but it came at the cost of a bond. A Spark-bond, no less. He rubbed at his eyes until he saw spots on the back of his eyelids. He had been home for less than a week. He had hoped for some kind of homecoming. Some kind of peace. Ross tried to steady his breathing and berated himself for such thinking. Hope was foolish. He, of all people, should have learned that.

He was jerked out of his reverie by a hesitant touch to his elbow.

‘Er. Sorry?’Demelza still had her hand out, and a worried look on her face.

‘No.’ Ross lied. ‘It’s fine.’ He looked around the empty field. Demelza’s dog flopped onto the ground to roll in the grass, and she followed it. Ross frowned, then shook his head. The middle of a field was as good a place as any. He joined them on the grass. Demelza looked up in surprise.

‘What are we doin’?’

‘I did say we would talk.’ Ross reminded her, though his voice was gentle.

‘Here?’ The dog flopped happily in Demelza’s lap, and she scratched at it’s ears.

Ross smiled at the sight. For all his frustration and fear, he couldn’t deny the clear that joy that came from their antics. ‘I don’t yet have a sitting room in the house.’ Ross admitted.

‘You’ve got a proper Manor though.’ Demelza said, clearly confused.

Ross sighed. ‘I only recently returned. My father died while I was away, and the house…’ He paused, and tried to push through the emotion when the thought of what Nampara should have been. ‘The house has fallen into disrepair.’ He finally settled on.

‘I see…’ Demelza said slowly. ‘So I’m to help you rebuildin’ then?’

‘Yes.’ Ross said, ‘And to help with maintenance once she’s fixed back up.’

‘We can’t fix her though.’ Demelza said, following Ross’s lead on personifying the manor. ‘And there ain’t no Stone-speakers ‘round left to do it.’

Ross sighed. ‘We’ll do our best for the time being. I’m going to have to call one in from the city as it stands. I need to know where things stand on the mine.’

‘You’ve got a mine?’ Demelza’s eyes went wide at the prospect.

‘It’s been closed down for years.’ Ross reminded her. ‘I hardly know if there’s anything left of it.’

Demelza frowned for a moment. ‘What about us though?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The spark.’ Demelza clarified. 

Ross flinched at the very mention of the term being spoken aloud.

‘You’ve got it too. I know you have!’ Demelza said, and hope shone bright on her face. ‘Are you going to teach me?’

Ross didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain the pain of the spark that he carried every day. How he had brought his fire to live in his very blood, and he paid for with every waking moment. ‘I can’t teach you.’

Demelza stared. ‘No, but you’ve got to!’

Ross shook his head. ‘No.’

Demelza stood from the ground in one smooth, swift movement, and she glared down at Ross, fury in her every word. ‘YOu don’t get to do that. You don’t get to trap me here and not train me. That’s not right! You can’t just leave me here like that! I don’t know nothin’, but I can learn!’ She turned on him with the most piercing look he’d ever seen, and she tapped her head. ‘You and me. We’re stuck together now. It’s the last thing I’ll be doin’ is lettin’ you think that I’ll sit quiet and let you-

‘-I can’t!’ Ross interrupted her.

‘Oh, for shame! Of course you can!’

‘It is not a lack of  _ desire _ , Demelza!’ He finally shouted, managing to cut through her tirade. 

She stopped and stared. ‘What?’

Ross shook his head. ‘I -’ He paused, knowing that her words were indeed true. They were bonded in a way that could not be undone easily, if at all. ‘I was never trained, Demelza. I cannot teach you what I do not know.’

‘But - but you. You’re  _ old _ !’

Ross winced, feeling her fury reflected as heat, spreading through his mind, searing any attempts at control that he could possibly gather.

‘And you’ve got it  _ strong _ .’ Demelza continued. ‘I can feel it! If you wasn’t trained, you should be dead!’ It was true. For an untrained spark, especially one as strong as he was, it was rare to make it to his age with no training.

‘Well I’m not.’ Ross cut out bitterly.

‘So you must know  _ something _ !’ Demelza pointed out. 

‘Please, believe me when I say nothing you would ever want to know.’

Demelza squared her shoulders and stuck her jaw out. ‘I want to learn, and it is your job to teach me.’ 

The heat from her flared through their bond, setting Ross on fire. It burned through him, waves upon waves of flame, coursing through him, settling into his bones, turning everything in him to unbearable, shimmering heat, and the gritty dark of ash. Ross buried his fingers into the ground and  _ pushed _ with everything he had, willing the fire out, he could feel it burning through his fingertips, drying out his skin from the inside. It was the white heat of lightning and core-deep pain of drowning, and it took everything he had to keep breathing through it, channeling it low, pressing it into the dark, waiting earth.

Demelza was silent when he finally opened his eyes. Every part of him was screaming in protest and pain. He knew that there was only one solution. ‘I will not teach you what I know.’ He said, his voice coming out as a smokey croak. ‘We will find a different way for you.’ He had no idea how he was going to manage it, but it he had no choice. She could not remain untrained. ‘You will learn.’ He said, ‘That I promise.’

Demelza stepped forward and reached for his arm, helping him to his feet. It was only when they were walking towards Nampara that Ross realized he’d left a perfectly scorched circle where he’d sat.

Marks like that were dangerous. He’d been lucky not to start a grass fire. If anyone saw it, the two of them would be facing more trouble than any title would be able to protect them from.

‘Demelza, hold.’ He stopped walking.

She turned and stared at him in disbelief. ‘I can feel you hurtin’ fierce right now.’ She reminded him.

He shook his head. The movement was enough to make the world spin in dizzy circles under his feet, but he pushed it away. ‘We cannot leave that.’ He pointed to the blackened mark on the ground. ‘If anyone were to see-’

‘Oh.’ Realization dawned on Demelza. ‘They’d run us out quicker than anything.’

‘If not worse.’ Ross reminded her.

Demelza frowned, then looked towards Nampara. ‘It’s not too far away.’ She commented. ‘Would be a good place to start a garden.’ She met Ross’s eyes. ‘We turn the earth and there’ll be nothing to see.’

Ross nodded grimly. He could feel the fire biting at him, angry embers protesting, the flickering heat longing to once again feel the freedom of flame. Moving felt like treading on shredded nerves, but he pushed it down. Closed his eyes, breathing deep, and reminding himself that pain did not make the world stop. Nothing made the world stop. And now he had a second Spark to protect. He looked down and saw Demelza’s dog sitting obediently at their feet.

‘If we just dig a pit,’ he said wryly, ‘could we blame your dog?’

‘Garrick would never!’ Demelza protested automatically, then paused, realizing Ross’s line of thinking. ‘Lots of dogs dig holes.’

‘It’s far less work than a garden.’ Ross pointed out, with a tired smile.

‘Right!’ Demelza nodded with finality. ‘Where are the shovels?’

Ross laughed, and something in him shook loose, deep in his chest. He hadn’t wanted a Spark-bond but...he hadn’t wanted to be alone, either. There was something about Demelza; the sparkle in her eye, and the fight in her spirit. It almost made him think that if he had to have a bond...perhaps he was glad for it to be her.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a writing/fandom-ish blog[ on tumbr](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/) too!


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